


After...

by Kenkaya



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Minor Assault, Post-Series, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 02:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5230496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenkaya/pseuds/Kenkaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshots about life after Naraku... about forging a future once the dust has settled. </p><p>First chapters originally written for Week 1 of Inuvember 2015 on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Sky Full of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> These oneshots were originally posted on Tumblr for week 1 of Inuvember (the weekly theme was relationships). Since the first four I wrote ended up taking place post-series, I decided to keep up with the trend for all seven. Enjoy an entire collection of post-series fluff!

She liked to watch the stars at night. 

Sometimes, after dinner had been eaten and Shippou passed out beneath the table, she would look at him with hopeful brown eyes; begging for a lift up to the top of their thatched roof. He always obliged (though not without the customary, half-hearted grumble), hoisting her on his back before leaping outside. A couple weeks after their first excursion, she started keeping a blanket folded by the door, so they could lay comfortably side by side as they stargazed.

Well, while she watched the stars. He was more fascinated by her seeming wonder over an ordinary night sky. He watched the way her eyes, so wide they reflected starlight, shone in awe. He waited for the eager little gasps that would escape her each time a shooting star whizzed past. His favorite part of these outings though, was the end. She would eventually reach over to snuggle against his side, slotting her head between his neck and shoulder with practiced ease. Occasionally, she fell asleep like that (the slow, soft breaths lulling him into his own sense of calm) and had to be carried to bed. He didn’t understand it, but still appreciated her serene joy. He cherished these quiet moments for himself as well.

“I love the stars here… you forget how bright they are in the future… just how many there are up there...” she mused aloud one night.

“What’dya mean?” he asked, truly puzzled. “It’s the same sky, right? Can’t be that different.”

She smiled, though not condescendingly, and began a long explanation of light pollution, carbon emissions, and atmospheres. He couldn’t wrap his head around most of it. However, he listened as she described how the sky had looked in her city: like dark slate and (whenever clouds rolled in) charcoal grey tinged a slight sickly yellow. She told him how the stars were only visible from high hills, like the one her shrine was built on, or suburban neighborhoods- and even then they were still faded.

“The only places you can see a sky full of stars like this in the future are outside urban areas… and usually remote. I never really had a chance to travel outside of Tokyo when I was growing up, so,” she paused to swallow a bit. “I never saw stars like this until I came here. Sometimes, when we were out looking for the Shikon no Tama, I would stay awake just to look at them and remind myself that it was real… that the night sky really could look this vibrant.”

He blinked after her words petered off, thinking back to every visit he’d made through the well. The future he recalled was loud, smelly, and filled with brilliant lights. There were so many new, overwhelming, and unbelievable things to see on the ground, he realized (with some surprise) that he’d never once thought to look up while he was there. 

She sighed then, slipping into her routine habit of cuddling as the hour grew late. A weight he didn’t realize lay on his chest suddenly lifted in that peaceful moment.

During the day, he often mulled over the sacrifices his wife made to be with him. He never vocalized it, but the guilt hit him especially hard every time he saw her struggle with a mundane task she never needed to perform before. Or, whenever she inadvertently expected the impossible, only to apologize profusely the minute it dawned on her what she’d asked. He had witnessed the future for himself too; knew about amazing conveniences like electrical lighting, supermarkets, and ready access to indoor plumbing. From his perspective, Kagome had given up everything to live here, and he had gained _everything_. 

But now, he thought about her words; her reactions that made little sense until just moments ago. A thin arm wrapped itself around his chest, her petite hand coming to rest just over his heart. He reached up to clasp that hand with his own and she murmured contently. Caught up by the idea of what his wife had lost by settling in a past era, he had failed to consider what she might have gained. While he marvelled at zipping cars and flashing television screens in her time, she had gazed in wonder at the sky in his.

“So nice n’ quiet now,” she mumbled sleepily, clearly well on her way to slumber.

“Hm.” 

He held her close and, for the first time since since their ritual began, Inuyasha looked up to watch the stars. 

xxxxxx


	2. Whatever the Future May Bring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miroku had been haunted by the Wind Tunnel for so long, it wasn’t until Sango’s announcement that he realized how woefully unprepared he was to actually be a part of his child’s life…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for week 1 of Inuvember on Tumblr. The weekly theme was relationships, and day 2 was dedicated to Mir/San.

When Sango told him she was carrying their first child, Miroku was hit by a sudden, very unexpected fear. He didn’t embrace his wife, or shout his joy to the hills. Instead, the monk froze: brain stuck on a mental loop of, _“holy shit... I’m actually going to be a father._ ”

Not that her announcement had been completely out of the blue (they were quite enthusiastic about their marital duties, after all), or even unwelcome. Miroku had always anticipated having children. But, it wasn’t until Sango’s declaration that the man realized he wasn’t ready for a future where he was an active part of his child’s life. He had been haunted by the Wind Tunnel for so long, the necessity of preparing for what happened beyond the act of conception never dawned on him until that moment.

_What do I do? What do I do?!_

He had absolutely no frame of reference when it came to parenting. His father had succumbed to Naraku’s curse when he was very young and, while Miroku cared a great deal for Mushin, the man was a proud drunken lecher. Those were hardly qualities he should be passing onto future generations. Clearly, he was the worst possible candidate to father offspring and the universe was indeed cruel since it saw fit to leave an impressionable life in his hands. He was going to fail. Horribly. He was going to fail his unborn child; he was going to let Sango (his beautiful, almost too gracious wife) down, and he still had no idea what to do-

“Is… something wrong?”

Sango’s anxious question broke through the panicked maelstrom in his head. She was standing in front of him and shifting nervously at his prolonged silence, fingers twisted in the sleeves of her favorite pink yukata. He stared back blankly, blinking for a moment, before his frantic mind finally registered that she was waiting for a response. 

“Oh! No, not at all!” he quickly assured, pasting on his empty con-smile through force of habit. Judging by her deadpan glare, Sango wasn’t fooled one bit. “This… is wonderful news. Truly. I mean it.”

“Truly,” she parroted, expression stormy. 

“Of course!” he suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically in the face of her ire. A little voice of reason (one that had been inconveniently absent until now) reminded him that physical displays were common to genuine enthusiasm and, despite his powerful misgivings, Miroku couldn’t deny some bubbling excitement simmered beneath his fear. He bounced forward, clasping his wife’s hands in a motion full of feigned restraint.

“We must tell everyone at once! I can barely contain myself as it stands!”

“Right now? But… w… wait,” Sango protested half-heartedly as her husband dragged them across the village. By sundown, Miroku’s announcement had been heard loud and clear throughout the entire region. Inuyasha threatened, rather crassly, over dinner to shove his chopsticks down the man’s closest orifice if he, “didn’t shut up about the damn baby, already!”

Meanwhile, Sango remained silent. Miroku gushed more to compensate; even so, the man couldn’t help feeling he had already begun to fall behind in his parental role. She saw through everything with a stare born of stone. Internally, he was panicking, attempting to distract from the clammy sheen on his brow by doting on the woman until she snapped. Her exclamations of, “Stop treating me like a doll. I’m not made of porcelain!” only aided his downward spiral. If Miroku was incapable of figuring out the right support to give this early on, what did that say about his chances of adequately raising a child? A full day hadn’t even passed, and still he managed to fail spectacularity. 

That night, they lay awake in bed- side by side. Miroku stared intently at the ceiling, pretending he didn’t notice Sango’s obvious tossing, squinting as he tried to discern each individual beam holding up their roof. He saw nothing but darkness and shadows: uncertainty. _A bleak future, indeed._

“I’m scared too.” 

He very nearly jumped at her sudden nighttime confession. Giving up all pretense, Miroku turned on his side to offer his full attention. White moonlight spilled through the gaps in their doormat, illuminating her pale complexion and reflecting off the telltale glisten in her eyes. 

“Mother died giving birth to Kohaku, right after I turned five… and she never had a chance to give me motherly advice, or see her son... let alone any grandchildren. Just… I can handle not knowing how to be mother. I know we’ll figure that out somehow,” she spoke those words with such straight-forward conviction, Miroku was stunned. Instantly, he felt the day’s trepidations melt back. Sango still had faith in him! He hadn’t failed her yet-

“But… what if I never get that chance, either?”

The waver in her tone, followed by a half-aborted hitch, brought Miroku’s renewed mood crashing down. He was brutally reminded in that moment how dangerous childbirth was. Sango could very well die bearing his child: like her own mother had or even his (though neither his father nor Mushin had confirmed the unknown woman’s fate, Miroku had his suspicions). He had been so absorbed in how this pregnancy would affect him, the man neglected to consider his wife feelings. 

“I might leave you… what if I’m bringing a child into the world only to leave it alone immediately after? I could be dooming this baby to life without a mother… and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Oh, Sango,” he whispered, raising a hand to cup her cheek gently. The skin beneath his fingertips was cold to the touch. 

“I’m not afraid I’ll be a horrible mother… I’m afraid I won’t be one at all.”

“Everything will be fine,” Miroku promised. He felt the truth of that statement settle in the air between them, and discovered he truly believed (for the first time since that morning) that they would be. “You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. We’ll both get through this… it’s just a baby, after all. What is there for us to be afraid of? We should be celebrating.”

“We’ll see if you’re still spouting those words after you change your first diaper,” Sango challenged through a contrary combination of hiccups and giggles. Their home was too dark for Miroku to make out her budding smile, but he could hear the expression seeping into her voice. He broke out into a beaming grin of his own, elated to have finally found the words she needed to hear.

“It’s just one baby,” Miroku shrugged, confident once more. “How much can it poop?” 

Naturally, seven months later, the cruel, fickle (we-really-need-to-have-some-words- _now_ ) universe decided to grace them with twins.

xxxxxx


	3. The Nature of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Courtship?” Sesshoumaru interjected, his normally fluid thought process stalling on that word. “This boy... are human men... courting.... Rin? Already?”

Over the decades, Sesshoumaru had often heard human parents lament the speed at which their children grew (always too fast). It seemed a silly sentiment to him. Inevitability notwithstanding, no mortal creature had a juvenile stage that came even close to the length of human childhood; by simple comparison, they should realize how much time they had. And why cling to a state considered so ephemeral to begin with? Sesshoumaru truly couldn’t comprehend such flawed logic. 

Until the day, eight years after he first entrusted Rin to the old miko’s care, he came to visit and she ran out to greet him with a slight, but noticeable limp. 

“Sesshoumaru-sama!” Rin smiled as she hobbled over to him, wearing the emerald green kimono he brought her on his last visit. Long sleeves fluttered behind her as she moved: drawing attention to the iris flowers, stitched in numerous shades of purple, along the edges. 

“Rin,” he acknowledged the sixteen year-old as she halted in front of him. “You are injured.”

“It’s just a sprained ankle,” she answered quickly. Her smile didn’t waver, but his youkai nose easily detected a faint bitter musk accompanying those words. Her cheeks pinked immediately afterwards and a twinge of unease twisted in his gut. Rin was hiding something from him. The girl had never tried to do so before.

“Keh, I thought I smelled something rotten over here,” Inuyasha huffed as he stepped around Kaede’s hut. The hanyou’s abrasive welcome was hardly out-of-place, but Sesshoumaru immediately picked up on the combined glare/subtle-head-flick that meant his brother wanted to speak privately. 

Luckily, Kaede emerged from her hut then, calling Rin back to finish whatever chore she’d abandoned when Sesshoumaru arrived. The girl promised to return as soon as she was done and limped her way back inside. 

“Who hurt Rin?” he demanded the moment she was out of earshot. 

“Couple village boys were harassing her. Rin twisted her ankle trying to run from them- don’t worry, though!” Inuyasha frantically added as red began to bleed into the older youkai’s eyes. “They didn’t touch her and I already broke some bones for you, so everything’s settled!”

“Which bones?” 

“Two noses, an arm, and six ribs.”

“I suppose that will suffice for the moment,” Sesshoumaru sighed, making a mental note to discover the boys’ identities later and serve his own (less tame) justice. “Why would Rin try to conceal this information from me?”

“Ah,” his younger brother reached up to scratch the nape of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t think she’s trying to hide the incident _itself_ from you… she probably just doesn’t want you asking about the cause of it. Girls can get funny about that kind of stuff.”

“Cause?” Sesshoumaru prompted, deciding the rest of Inuyasha’s inane ramble didn’t warrant deciphering. 

“Yeah… one of the boys, Masanori, he’s shown some _interest_ in Rin… and, well, he tried to give her a courtship gift several days ago...”

“Courtship?” Sesshoumaru interjected, his normally fluid thought process stalling on that word. “This boy... are human men... courting.... Rin? Already?”

“Well, she’s sixteen,” Inuyasha shrugged as if though that were answer enough. “It’s a normal age for that kind of thing with humans... hell, Sango wasn’t much older when she settled with the monk.”

“Rin is of courting age,” Sesshoumaru repeated, unable to wrap his head around the idea of- courtship- in relation to Rin. True, he’d noticed the way her figure seemed to fill out recently, and the young woman’s impressive height was impossible to miss. Rin had shot up around the age of twelve: putting even the most resilient weeds to shame. She towered over most of the villagers by a fair margin (his brother included), though her playful demeanor belied any intimidation the trait might have offered. 

_Speaking of intimidation…_

“Wait,” he paused, brain finally managed to piece together the facts given to him in a reasonable manner. “If this human boy is courting Rin, then why did he attack her?” Mortals were rarely sensible (in his limited experience), but this result seemed a stretch. _Unless…_

“She rejected him,” Inuyasha said, confirming Sesshoumaru’s suspicions. “The kid was probably embarrassed… and his friends were egging ‘im on in some disgusting show of support,” the hanyou scoffed at their actions. Then, his guarded expression turned soft: golden eyes focused in a pleading way. Sesshoumaru had the distinct impression that he was about to hear the real reason his brother wanted to speak in confidence. 

“When I was running over to help, and Rin was on the ground… Masanori… he was yelling, asking why she accepted gifts from you but not him... called her a youkai lover.”

“Idiot,” Sesshoumaru flicked a long, wayward strand of silver-white hair over his shoulder dismissively. “I have cared for Rin and brought gifts since she was young. Do these human simpletons think this Sesshoumaru would lower himself to the point of… propositioning a child?”

“Well, not before. But now that she’s older…”

“I have razed villages in the past for lesser insults.”

“I’m sure you have,” Inuyasha snorted. “But you’re sure as hell not doing it to this village! You’re gonna actually have to deal with this one.” 

“Oh?” Sesshoumaru arched an eyebrow at the uncouth demand: amused. 

“Yes! Not that I care about gossip or anything… but people have been making assumptions about your “intentions” for the past year. Masanori’s just the first kid to come up and challenge it.”

“Clearly, he was unworthy of her.” _No one here is,_ the older youkai added mentally.

“Of course he wasn’t! That’s not the point! If people already think she’s spoken for… by you,” Inuyasha made a juvenile gagging gesture before continuing. “They might be too afraid to come up to her in the future. Or... maybe they’ll start thinking a “youkai lover” like her is just undesirable.”

“Ah,” Sesshoumaru nodded, hearing the underlying insecurity and history lurking beneath the hanyou’s words. _Fool- allowing his emotions to take control. He’s taking this personally._

“You believe I should stop bringing Rin gifts, then?” he said instead, sticking to the issue at hand.

“I think you should talk to her… figure things out,” Inuyasha glared knowingly at him. “And if I hear from her that you haven’t by tomorrow morning, I’m leaving you in Kagome’s hands next time.”

“Hardly a threat. I don’t fear your wife,” Sesshoumaru scoffed.

“Then you’re stupider than all Masanori’s lot combined.”

Their budding fight was interrupted by Rin’s excitable return. She grabbed the seething youkai’s hand and led him in a clumsy gait towards the forest, begging for stories about his latest travels. Behind them, Inuyasha bore into Sesshoumaru’s retreating back with a stare full of unpleasant promise. 

“Where are Jaken and Aa-un?” she inquired once they were alone, comfortably settled on a grassy knoll over-looking the village fields.

“They will catch up by early evening,” he answered, observing the girl as she brushed imaginary dirt from the fine green silk over her knees. Rin (he conceded) did indeed mature well: with a tall, lithe silhouette and deep dimples that complimented the delicate slope of her cheeks when she smiled. She was smiling now, brushing a wayward strand of black hair behind her ear as the wind attempted to wrestle it away. Her hair was still an endearingly messy nest of haphazard locks, he noted, though much longer. It hung loose down her back and pooled unevenly on the ground around her. 

_I should find a nice pin or comb to hold her hair up,_ he thought, until Inuyasha’s earlier words tainted the sentiment. 

“Rin.”

“Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama?” she cocked her head curiously, wide brown eyes considering him with child-like innocence, despite her most recent ordeal.

“Have my gifts caused you any… undue strife?”

“No!” she gasped, clutching at the embroidered sleeves of her kimono- scandalized. “Never, Sesshoumaru-sama! I love your gifts!” 

They sat in stunned silence for several seconds, until her lips pinched into a no-nonsense expression clearly gleaned from Kagome.

“Inuyasha-sama told you about Masanori, didn’t he?” 

Sesshoumaru didn’t bother to deny it.

“I should have know he would,” she sighed. “Masanori’s just a mean, stupid boy! I don’t care about him at all. Never will!” 

“You are under no obligation to return a suitor’s affection,” he nodded approvingly. “This boy was a fool not to respect your decision.” And quite possibly dead, once he had the brat in his poisoned claws.

“Thank you, Sesshoumaru-sama,” Rin’s demeanor brightened, before suddenly growing subdued once more. “But please, Sesshoumaru-sama... don’t change anything because of him. I… always look forward to your gifts.”

“Then nothing will change,” he assured her. She thanked him exuberantly once more, and golden eyes widened as he caught the bright pink glow rising on her cheeks. Rin was, unmistakably, blushing.

_...Figure things out,_ Inuyasha had said. But in that moment, witnessing her joy, Sesshoumaru decided his brother and meddlesome sister-in-law could go choke on their opinions. Rin was happy with the way things were; her feelings were all that mattered to him. 

xxxxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... I finally got a chance to share my weird little headcannon that Rin grows up to be incredibly tall. Don't know why, but I really like the idea of her towering over everyone (except Sesshoumaru, of course!)


	4. Debt and Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kouga was a man worthy of Ayame because of Kagome…

xxxxxx

“Married?! To dog’s breath? I didn’t even know she’d returned!”

The grey wolf in front of him winced at Kouga’s sudden outburst. He watched (with some irritation) as the foreign wolf’s yellow eyes darted around his cave immediately afterwards in search of potential exits. As if the wolf prince would be one to strike down a simple messenger! Though, he supposed to be fair, he had done so quite often in the past. 

_Before Kagome..._

“Well… looks like I’ll have to arrange a little visit to give my regards,” he chuckled, distracted by thoughts of heckling the hanyou and completely missing how the grey wolf slumped in relief. He hadn’t seen nor spoken to any of the mutt’s group in well over three years. Oh, how he was looking forward to riling up that idiot again!

“Why would you want to visit them? They didn’t bother inviting you to their wedding… or even take the time to let you know about it themselves! We had to hear the _happy news_ through another tribe’s wolf, who just happened to be passing through and got a hold of some secondhand gossip!”

“So? It’s not like we invited them to ours,” Kouga turned to face the she-wolf seated on the raised stone platform beside him. Her green eyes regarded him with a fiery mix of emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle. “I don’t have any hard feelings… besides, I owe Kagome a lot.” 

“Well… maybe you should!” Ayame huffed, flipping a bright red pigtail angrily over the soft, white fur cape on her shoulders. “They could have sent us an announcement at the very least.”

“Why are you upset about this?” Kouga asked, truly perplexed over his wife’s behavior. Ayame was usually sweet and easily excitable when it came to celebrating life events. Upon learning of the exterminator’s first birth ( _“Twins, Kouga! Twins! C… can you imagine it!”_ ), she had been adamant about sending a small gift ( _“These are the humans who helped bring down Naraku and insure your vengeance! How can you even think about not sending them a proper congratulations!”_ ). He didn’t understand why those tendencies of hers would disappear now.

“I… I’m not!” she protested, an embarrassed flush obvious on her cheeks. “I’m just… incensed on your behalf.”

The way she avoided his gaze then, alongside her anxious fidgeting, finally clued Kouga in. He opened his mouth, blue eyes wide, and loudly exclaimed, “You’re jealous!”

“I’m… How… how _dare you!_ ” Ayame sputtered. He watched, dumbstruck, as she stood and jumped off the dais without another word. The foreign grey wolf and Kouga’s mixed retinue of brown and white all shifted nervously when she passed: stomping footsteps reverberating through narrow earthen passageways. She was furious.

“Did he just…”

“Shh!”

“But she…”

“Shut up, idiot!”

Whispers filled the air in her wake, adding to the weight of tension around them. Kouga knew immediately that he had screwed up. Epically. Accusing his wife of such base behavior, and in front of a foreign guest too- there was no acceptable excuse for his shortsighted actions.

“Ginta, Hakkaku… make sure our guest gets everything he needs for a proper rest before he leaves,” the wolf prince commanded before quickly leaping after her. He needed to fix this now.

He found her in their personal den, pacing frantically. Occasionally, she reached up to pull on her pigtails with an exasperated groan. She didn’t acknowledge him at first (though Kouga knew she had to be aware of his presence), continuing to pace as he stood frozen in the entryway. The onus was on him to initiate an apology; and yet, Kouga’s voice caught in his throat whenever he tried. He honestly didn’t know what to say. Grand declarations (especially ones without thought towards consequence) he could do, but humbling speeches and poetic comfort left him floundering- out of his depth. 

“How could you?!” Ayame cut through the silence when it became apparent her husband would not. “And in front of another tribe’s emissary!” she paused, head lowered as she whispered, “you embarrassed me, Kouga.”

“I’m sorry, Ayame,” he finally apologized, baritone soft. “I guess I was just.. surprised?” 

“Surprised?”

“Yeah… I mean,” Kouga hedged as he searched for the right words. “I’m married to you, and she’s married to Inuyasha now. I wouldn’t dishonor either of you by actually starting anything… you… really don’t think I would do that, do you?”

“No, Kouga,” Ayame sighed, plopping down on floor near the edge of their scattered bedding. She hunched forward: tentatively resting folded arms atop raised knees. “I trust you… really, I do! It’s just…” 

“It doesn’t sound like you do,” Kouga countered with more bitterness than he intended. “Sorry,” he added upon seeing the way she flinched at his tone. “But… it really doesn’t make sense to me. You got me... so, what are you jealous for?”

“I know!” she cried out, clawed fingertips flying up to weave between red strands. “I know, I know! It makes no sense and it’s illogical… my head keeps telling me that! But I still feel this way! I’m trying… _really trying_ , to explain it away, but no matter what I do... my feelings aren’t changing!” 

Her outburst echoed across their den: heavy with years of pent up emotion. 

“Why?” he breathed into the thick stillness between them.

“Because you didn’t agree to marry me until after she was gone,” Ayame confessed. “I don’t doubt your love, Kouga... and you’ve always respected me… but, Kagome wasn’t here when you made that choice. I can’t help being afraid that, when you see her again, a part of you will start thinking about what-ifs… that,” her breath hitched slightly, stuttering in the face of such open vulnerability. “That you’ll look at me afterwards and feel regret.” 

Nothing, not even sitting through countless hours of circular negotiations between squabbling wolf clans, came close to replicating the helplessness Kouga felt then. He couldn’t believe his confident, plucky wife had harbored these insecurities for the entirety of their union. And he never noticed! What kind of lousy husband did that make him?

As his bride, Ayame should have felt unwavering certainty of her importance in his life. That she didn’t was a major failing on Kouga’s part. 

“Ayame,” he began, choking on words once more. He would- could never regret marrying her. Still, Kouga found he couldn’t honestly say so while dismissing Kagome’s impact on him either.

Contrary to appearances, Kouga knew damn well Kagome didn’t love him back then. He had been a selfish brute and she was beautiful: thrumming with magnetic power, charging the air around them and drawing him further in. At first, he was mostly interested in her useful ability to detect Shikon shards. Her genuine kindness eventually won him over, though. Like a ravaged dog chasing after a gentle hand, it wasn’t long until he craved her almost blind altruism- the goodness she projected into the world and inspired back in turn. Kouga was a better person (a better leader) in large part because of Kagome’s influence.

He was a man worthy of Ayame’s affections because of Kagome.

While the idealistic miko had a heart optimistic enough to change him, in all practicality, she would have made a poor partner for him. Wolves were ferocious by nature. Even with his impulses tempered, Kouga still had to embrace and understand that aspect in order to lead effectively. Kagome wouldn’t have had the stomach for it. Oh, he had rationalized at the time that she didn’t need to participate in their politics (that would be his burden to bear alone). In hindsight, though, he realized such an imbalanced power dynamic would have fostered misery between them. By the end, the motive behind half his flirting had really been to annoy Dogface. 

Ayame, on the other hand, was sweet with a side of pragmatic viciousness born from her own wolf blood. She stood strong beside him through tough moments; a true equal. And, Kouga knew for certain, the cruel youkai he was before wouldn’t have appreciated her duality- would have stepped over the soft spots on her heart with a derisive snort of, “ _weak._ ” Only now, after Kagome, did they compliment each other well. 

But, Kouga wasn’t eloquent; so how did he convey all that convoluted sentiment without messing up? He combed nervous claws through his long black ponytail, meeting her expectant green eyes. The wolf prince had no words for his wife. There simply weren’t enough to express everything he needed to. 

So, instead, he said, “I won’t. She’s not you.”

xxxxxx


	5. The Unspoken Language of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theirs was a hard friendship to define...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my short piece for Day 5, dedicated to the Inu/San relationship!

xxxxxx

He went to the Bone-eater’s Well often (usually in the hour just before dawn), and sat with his head resting on the cracked wood lip. Inuyasha never spoke of these visits, nor did he leave any hints they actually took place. This was his time to be alone: to grieve and contemplate a future with the pieces left to him. Afterwards, he would discreetly return to the village. Only Shippou was aware of his excursions. Thankfully, the child seemed to sense the solemnity surrounding them, and remained completely quiet on the subject. 

Until, after morning sickness had driven her out of bed for an impromptu stroll, Sango discovered his ritual. The air was damp and chill with morning dew when she stumbled across him; the smell of moist earth shrouding them as wind rustled softly through red autumn leaves. She stood a moment just behind the treeline, watching him stare down its depths with glassy golden eyes. She turned around in hurry then, leaving him with what privacy she could in his heartbreak. He didn’t acknowledge her presence at all.

Later, over dinner, Sango offered to wrap their leftover rice up “ _in case_ ” his hunger returned. She didn’t mention that her “ _in case_ ” meant the next morning, but (apparently) she didn’t need to. Inuyasha pinned her with a knowing glare and refused in his standard gruff fashion.

“You got a brat on the way and a good-for-nothing husband to feed now. Save it for them!”

She didn’t press the matter any further. He departed, per usual, without a single utterance of gratitude and Sango stared forlornly at the extra white grains inside their pot. 

They continued on with their lives: he visiting the well, and her preparing for the daunting task of motherhood. Her belly grew as cold weather began to settle in. One morning, just before the first snows, Inuyasha came out of the forest: early ground-frost cracking beneath his bare feet as he hoisted an armful of recently cut wood. Sango assumed, at first, that the hanyou was stocking up for Kaede.

“W… what are you doing?” she protested when he dumped the pile next to her home instead. 

“What does it look like?” he snapped back, clapping sawdust off his hands in an exaggerated gesture. 

“You… don’t have to,” Sango responded a bit awkwardly. “I mean… well… Miroku can do stuff like that. My husband should be making himself useful around the here, after all. Don’t you think?” 

“Just take it! There’s more where that came from and I don’t got any use for it!”

Any further argument was cut off as he stomped away, leaving the wood stacked precariously against her house. Sango sighed before walking over to reorganize the pile. Trust Inuyasha to be rude while giving a gift.

Still, she found herself smiling at his actions. Theirs was a hard friendship to define. On the surface (especially during the days chasing Naraku), they were merely comrades in battle. Mutual respect from one warrior to another, trusting the other would watch your back- these were all major aspects of their relationship. But the long battle against Naraku had forged a deeper bond as well. Inuyasha had understood and validated her emotions when Kohaku returned from the dead; she recognized and accepted his grief over Kagome’s absence. Since that autumn morning, Sango made sure to avoid any paths towards the well until well after midday. He entrusted her with his feelings in an unspoken pact, the same way she had when her brother seemed lost. 

Sliding the last log into place, the meaning behind Inuyasha’s gift suddenly hit her: bursting somewhere inside her chest and radiating a pleasant flush of warmth. Inu youkai were often solitary, though they still showed signs of pack-driven behavior within their chosen groups- always providing for those they considered their own. He was treating them like family.

The warmth was accompanied just then by her stomach fluttering in the still-strange sensation of her child moving. She placed a calming hand over her curved midsection as the movement increased to distracting levels. Leaning down, Sango whispered lovingly to her baby- 

“Remind me to thank your grumpy uncle later.” 

xxxxxx


	6. Cause and Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you smiling about?” his wife inquired with a teasing lilt. 
> 
> “Oh, nothing really. I just realized I owe someone even more than I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My piece for Mir/Kag day ended up being very Mir/San centric, but I like the idea of exploring (and acknowledging) how past friendships/relationships can effect current ones for the better (we see for the worst often enough IMO).

xxxxxx

The morning after his marriage had been an enlightening one, filled with intimate touches interspersed with light-hearted (occasionally veering towards serious) conversation. Golden sunlight filtered through the cracks in their shuttered window, heating the air around them to a perfect lazy warmth. Miroku couldn’t help staring at his wife (a little thrill still tingling through him at the thought) as she stretched languidly across their rumpled bedding. Dark hair fanned out in a halo around her head, framing her flushed face beautifully. _How did I get so lucky?_ Miroku honestly had no idea, and said as much out loud.

“Don’t sell yourself too short now,” Sango admonished with soft chuckle. “You may be an incorrigible lecher, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a good man when it comes down to it… that you don’t show respect in some way. You never treated me like outsiders usually did.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, genuinely confused. “Outsiders?”

“Ah, people not from an exterminator village,” she amended. “When I wore the armor, it was easier for people to just see me as a taijiya… but, after the armor was off, it was as if a veil of illusion was suddenly lifted... and outsiders often struggled to reconcile the image of me as both a warrior and a woman.” 

“That didn’t… did that happen when you travelled with us as well?” 

“Of course,” she answered matter-of-factly. “But it’s... subtle. It’s the way their language changes when they talk... or, sometimes, the way they look at me shifts- like they don’t know how to regard me since I’m not just one or the other. Neither you, Inuyasha, or Kagome acted that way, though. It was nice to still have that… with my village gone.”

“I... never noticed,” Miroku commented, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. His gut squirmed uncomfortably at the fact.

“All the women in my village dealt with it,” she shrugged. “It’s just something to be expected. Taijiya are different… everyone learns to fight. My father was already bringing me along to exterminations by the time I turned ten. Seeing a young girl leap into battle doesn’t sit well with most people, but it’s always been our way.” 

“I suppose I can understand that,” he said, contemplative. The idea of mentally separating Sango the woman from the warrior seemed unfathomable to him. They were both such integral parts of who she was as a whole. But, her words that morning made him aware of something else as well-

Her duality never bothered him, even though (by virtue of growing up outside that environment) it should have. Oh, Miroku had encountered the occasional miko during his solitary travels, but he never fought alongside them. Kagome was his first true female comrade-in-arms. 

And, looking back now, he realized he hadn’t depended on her right away. She was still a figure to be protected in the beginning: before he witnessed the way she jumped to shield Inuyasha from a vengeful Sesshoumaru, or how she blew away Naraku with nothing but an arrow of raw power and enviable determination. The strengths she displayed, of character and will, were on a level he’d never faced before. By the time Sango joined their group, Kagome had already proven herself an equal worthy of respect on the battlefield. 

With a jolt of surprise, Miroku realized that his experiences with Kagome might very well be the reason he accepted Sango so readily. 

“What are you smiling about?” his wife inquired with a teasing lilt.

“Oh, nothing really. I just realized I owe someone even more than I thought.” 

Sango arched an eyebrow curiously at her husband’s cryptic response. Instead of elaborating though, Miroku leaned over to answer her invitation with (a very much welcomed) physical distraction.

A few years later, he sat in front of Kaede’s fire pit: watching his infant son while a recently returned Kagome practiced sorting herbs. The girl hummed pleasantly while she worked, an occasional sharp crackle of burning embers complimenting her song.

“Ah, Kagome-sama,” he interrupted suddenly. She paused, glancing up to offer her full attention. “Now that we’re alone, in a manner-of-speaking, there’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now… since before your return…”

“Yes?”

He straightened then, sincerity shining in his indigo blue eyes as he said, with complete solemnity, “thank you.” 

“Eh?” Kagome blinked, perplexed. She put down the herbs in her hands, reaching back to brush green-stained fingers on the bright red fabric of her hakama. “What for?”

Miroku simply smiled, bouncing Komori gently on his knee. The baby burbled happily and waved short pudgy arms at his father.

“Oh, just everything.” 

xxxxxx


	7. Kinship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship- Kagome/Sango. After joining their quest, Sango found herself easily falling into place within Inuyasha’s ragtag group… but, she soon learned, none of them could compare to the strangeness that was Higurashi Kagome.

After joining their quest, Sango found herself easily falling into place within Inuyasha’s group. The speed at which she did was somewhat alarming in the beginning. She was the last taijiya: a people who had been inherently separate from the rest of Japan, complete with their own culture and laws. The loneliness she felt upon learning of their deaths (everyone- her father, _Kohaku…_ ) had been all-encompassing, absolutely devastating. Her place in the world was gone, ripped away in the span of a single night. With nowhere else to go (no place to fit in), tagging alongside those who also sought vengeance against Naraku seemed only logical. It didn’t matter that they were a ragtag collection of individuals; that one was a cursed monk and another a hanyou. Sango was a bit unconventional herself. 

But, she soon learned, none of them could compare to the strangeness that was Higurashi Kagome. 

Sango didn’t know what to make of the girl at first. She claimed to be from the future- hardly difficult to believe with her unique garments and the odd, nonsensical phrases that occasionally peppered her speech. The food she offered them was incredibly flavorful for travel fare: durable and long-lasting to an almost unfathomable degree. She fought with a miko’s abilities as well, though she never addressed herself as such. Most nights, once camp had been set, she would pull thick books out of her pack: arranging them around her plush ‘sleeping bag’ in a display of study that certainly put their resident monk to shame. When Sango asked if her family were scholars (a reasonable conclusion upon seeing her ready access to that amount of dense, written material), the girl had only blinked, perplexed, before answering with a bashful negative. She didn’t elaborate further. Kagome seemed to elude any concrete label that could possibly describe her. 

Until the sixth night-

“This is my future, Inuyasha!” Kagome exclaimed, waving one of her books casually through the air as she engaged in, what Sango had quickly discovered, was a routine argument.

“Yeah? Well _right now_ we need to focus on looking for Shikon shards!” Inuyasha huffed back. “You can go back through the well an’ work on your future all you damn want after that’s done!”

“I can’t just put things on hold like that,” Kagome groaned, dragging an open palm down her face in a gesture of pure exasperation. “Do you have any idea just how far missing next week’s exam will set me back?” 

“Are these exams important in your time?” Sango asked, finally building up the courage to satisfy her curiosity; and if her question had the added effect of breaking up an impending fight, well, that was just a welcome perk. 

“ _Very_ important,” the other girl stressed as she sent the hanyou a pointed glare. He simply snorted and jumped into the branches of a nearby tree to avoid further confrontation.

“How so?” Sango prompted further.

“I must admit, I have wondered about your studies myself as well,” Miroku interjected from his position across the fire pit. His unexpected support buoyed Sango’s (still) unsteady confidence while interacting within their group. 

“Well, you see,” Kagome began thoughtfully. “In my time, just about everyone goes to school when they’re young. We start off learning basics… like reading, writing, math, history… but later on they start testing us, and our skill in these subjects help determine our future...”

She then continued on with a long, detailed explanation of grade levels, high school entrance exams ( _“which I need to study for right now, Inuyasha!”_ ), university majors, and, finally, how one’s placement in all these areas determined which jobs they were qualified for. Sango honestly didn’t understand how such a needlessly complicated system could possibly function. But, there was one very surprising result of Kagome’s ramble. 

In a taijiya village, both boys and girls started training early (just like the future Kagome described), followed by a series of tests and trials as they grew older. These challenges separated those with an aptitude for youkai extermination from the rest, many of whom would move on to fulfill necessary jobs inside the village walls. Veteran exterminators also used these milestones to decide which positions within a team junior taijiya were best suited for. The world Kagome spoke of seemed a convoluted, convex mirror of Sango’s old life, and the young woman said as much soon afterwards.

“Really?” Kagome perked up, the book she tried to study from earlier lay forgotten on her lap. “I never would have thought that… but I don’t really know anything about taijiya, so I guess that’s a silly thing to say. What was your training like?”

With that ice-breaker, the two began exchanging stories while Miroku leaned back, listening intently. Shippou yawned, curling up by Kagome’s feet as they talked- discovering parallel experiences ( _“Ugh! I had a teacher like that too! Nothing I did was ever good enough… it was so frustrating!”_ ), comparing differences ( _“You were already working in the field at ten?! Something like that would never be allowed in my time!”_ ), and sharing fun moments ( _“... And the first time I practiced with Hirakotsu I smacked myself in the face before I even let go of the grip! Father couldn’t stop laughing long enough to properly correct my form that day!”_ ).

“You’re so focused, Sango-chan!” Kagome complimented after hearing the tale of Sango’s last solo assignment (Before _that_ night). “I admire that… see, I’m not sure what I want to do when my schooling is over. That’s why I need to work hard now! Keep my options open, you know? At least... until I find something I’m passionate enough about to pursue single-mindedly.”

“It’s a lot of hard work,” the taijiya spoke, raising a hand to cradle her chin wistfully. “But that feeling of accomplishment afterwards… there’s nothing like it…”

“I bet.” 

Sango realised right then she’d found the one thing she never expected to have again- not since she climbed half-dead out of that cold, shallow grave. 

_Kinship._

It was a connection she wouldn’t take for granted, not while they journeyed towards a future haunted by shrouds of uncertainty. Not even when they came across Kohaku (alive but far from well), and she almost forsook her new family to redeem the old. Sango persevered: clinging to Inuyasha’s validation, Miroku’s empathy, but, most of all, to Kagome’s acceptance. Her sister-in-spirit was always there with an open ear or offered shoulder. Up until the final confrontation against Naraku, she was there. 

Two years and a completed quest later, Sango longed for the time traveller’s presence in her life once more. 

A great deal had changed since that campfire night. She was a married woman now, settled in Kaede’s village with a pair of demanding twin girls. They competed viciously for their father’s doting attention (though Miroku hardly did much to dissuade them), and ran circles around her once they figured out how to balance properly on tiny legs. Inuyasha helped out occasionally in his own rough-edged manner- usually dragging a kicking Shippou along with him. Kohaku didn’t visit often as she liked at times, but having him back in any capacity was more than she dared hope for back then. She still missed Kagome’s easy companionship everyday, though (for the most part), Sango felt lucky to have stumbled across such a welcoming home.

For the most part. 

She noticed shortly after the twins were born: _six weeks and two days to be exact_. The sky was a clear, pale blue, with a pleasantly crisp spring breeze rustling through the trees. Miroku had taken their children for the afternoon, giving his wife a much needed break from the particular chaos only babies could conjure. Sango really had intended to rest at first; but then her tired brown eyes landed on Hiraikotsu propped against the wall, and her out-of-shape body suddenly itched for action. Reaching over to reverently brush dust off the last relic of her people, the taijiya hoisted her treasured weapon before heading outside for exercise. 

Weakened muscles flared to life during her warm-up stretches, burning distinctly from the get-go. Embarrassed by her poor performance so early on, Sango decided to remain behind her house as she trained. Pregnancy weight and a heavy chest worked in tandem to throw off once flawless coordination, while her lungs struggled painfully for air that used to come in easy gulps. Despite those obstacles, eventually she fell into a familiar, soothing rhythm with her katas. Finally, she felt confident enough to throw Hiraikotsu; a wistful smile graced the young woman’s features when she let go. 

“Sango-sama?!” 

She fumbled the catch, but somehow managed to grasp the weapon without hurting herself. Annoyed, she turned to face her unexpected interruption. 

“Yes, Midori-san?”

Her neighbor, Midori, stood on the dirt pathway between their homes’: back bent in mid-lean to hold back her rambunctious two year-old son. Even though the women was only a few years older than Sango, several permanent lines had already etched themselves along the corners of her lips. The grey cloth holding back her dark hair had slipped askew, probably during the frantic scramble of keeping up with her child, numerous wild strands falling free to frame her round face. 

“Pardon my intrusion, Sango-sama,” Midori apologised timidly, lifting her squirming son up into her arms. “But… I couldn’t help wondering… why are you out with your weapon?”

“Oh,” Sango sighed, thinking the woman must have feared danger was imminent. She used the hem of her pink yukata sleeve to wipe beaded sweat off her brow. “Just doing some training before my husband returns with the children. I’m still a bit out-of-shape from the birth… it’s going to take a bit of work before I’m battlefield-ready again.” 

“You… still intend to go out? To exterminate youkai?” 

“Of course,” Sango answered, perplexed. “Soon as I’ve built my strength back up.”

“I see,” the older woman whispered. “I suppose… I’m just surprised.” 

“Surprised? Why?” Sango truly didn’t understand the logic; a taijiya followed their calling until death, regardless of life changes.

“Well… you have a family to consider now. What does your husband think?”

“He…” the younger woman paused, unsure how to respond. She had just assumed- Miroku made no indication he expected her to stop fighting after they married. Why would motherhood be any different?

But he was not of her people, and suddenly Sango was overwhelmed by the thought maybe she was alone in thinking nothing would change. For the first time since that campfire night, she felt the full lonely weight of being among the last. 

Later that evening, over dinner, she broached the subject to Miroku.

“Give up exterminating?” he repeated, rocking their eldest twin while she fed the other. “If you want to… I never thought you would, though.” 

“I don’t,” Sango clarified immediately, stroking the cheek of her youngest while the babe suckled. “I just… wasn’t sure if you expected it. Things were different in the village, mothers always returned to duty once they were able… and it occurred to me today that perhaps we didn’t share the same ideas about our future. We never talked about it.” 

“If anyone can handle being both a mother and a warrior, it’s you,” Miroku smiled, shushing the baby gently as she began to loudly demand her turn at the breast. “I can’t imagine you any other way, to be honest.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As it was intended to be, my dear.”

Empowered by their conversation, Sango mapped out a steady training regimen the very next day. Slowly, she built her stamina back up and pregnancy fat began to shrink away. A couple weeks into her new routine, Inuyasha dropped by to offer himself as sparring partner, _“if you ever need someone to pound ya into the dust,”_ or so he claimed. She magnanimously accepted his invitation to, _“act as my personal weapons’ dummy on occasion.”_ Sometimes, the taijiya practiced with children strapped to her back and chest; the two aspects of her life tied together in ways that felt like validation. 

Not everyone seemed to agree, though. 

The signs (as always) were understated: a vaguely snide comment here, a squinty-eyed side glance there. Caught up in the fear of what Miroku might think of her lifestyle, Sango had failed to anticipate the villagers’ disapproval. She was blindsided. 

Sango had found the villagers to be largely accepting of her job early on (perhaps in part due to the continuous presence of warrior miko like Kikyou and Kaede). Their open-mindedness was a large determining factor when debating where to put down roots with her husband. Midori’s meek words, _“you have a family to consider now,”_ echoed through her mind every time she felt unfriendly eyes on her back. The rhythm of her katas followed the cadence of sharp whispers. An unmarried, or even newlywed, woman warrior was clearly seen as perfectly within reason- but, as a mother, her role and priorities were expected to change. 

Her tajiya pride would never roll over for those expectations. 

Seasons passed. The girls spoke their first words, stood on wobbly legs, then graduated to boundless running in short order. Five months after her clumsy reemergence with Hiraikotsu, Sango left the twins in Kaede’s care and accompanied Miroku to an exorcism: her first since they were born. She was still a bit rusty, high on adrenaline in the aftermath like a green exterminator, but fell back into the swing of things easily enough. 

“Have I ever told you how radiant you look flushed from the heat of battle?” Miroku said during the walk home, grinning suggestively. 

“Not recently, no,” Sango bantered with a promising smile of her own.

“Oi! Leave off ‘til we get to the village! You two are makin’ me sick,” Inuyasha groused. He accentuated the sentiment by crossing his arms petulantly (shoving balled fists inside voluminous red sleeves) and huffing. 

“Now, Inuyasha,” Miroku chastised as his wife shook her head at their antics. “It’s only to be expected… we are, after all, a young healthy married couple riding out the effects of battlelust…”

_“Miroku!”_

“S… Shut your damn mouth, monk! I don’t wanna hear it!” Inuyasha shouted. Face red, he moved well ahead of them on the dusty road with a bounding leap. Sango watched his retreat, an embarrassed blush still coloring her cheeks at Miroku’s candor. Several awkward, silent minutes passed before she pinned the monk with a sidelong, deadpan stare. 

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

I simply saw an opportunity and struck when the moment presented itself,” her husband said with a soft, innocent smile that didn’t fool her for one second. A wayward arm snaked around her waist, a subtle embrace she gladly leaned into. Inuyasha pointedly ignored them the rest of the trip. 

Sango continued to structure her life around exterminating- training mid-day while her children napped, telling bedtime stories of tajiya lore, and entrusting the girls to Kaede or Rin while she went out on jobs. Inuyasha and Miroku often joined her. The trio made an efficient team, fighting alongside each other again like days long past, though their traditional banter had changed in light of altered dynamics. They continued working in an easy rhythm- until familiar symptoms forced Sango to temporarily hang up her weapon once more. 

Her second pregnancy was far less frightening than the first: easier, predictable in a way her twins (by their very nature) had not been. As before, Kaede was an invaluable source of comfort and Miroku doted much as she let him. Inuyasha went back to performing small acts of care, the same ones that had so surprised her the first time around, with far less gruff covering his intentions than usual. 

Even so, the weeks leading up to her son’s birth were marred by a growing sense of alienation. She was no longer the expectant mother the villagers believed her to be when she carried the twins: ready to set aside dangerous pastimes and devote herself fully to a new docile lifestyle. Midori didn’t stop by with offers to help around the house this time, the random visits (filled with unsolicited advice) from other village women never resumed; her field of support narrowed considerably by comparison. The contrast was startling. 

Often, when she sat alone with her children during those idle months, Sango found herself reminiscing. She sighed, looking back on days when they traveling outside the village for weeks on end- when sunset meant breaking camp, and she sat in front of an open fire polishing Hiraikotsu while Kagome told fanciful stories. Most of all, though, she simply missed her friend. The future Kagome described seemed like a society where everyone was expected to contribute, much like the one she grew up in. Whenever neighbors waved from a distance, only to walk away instead of engaging, she wondered about the future. Did mothers in that time abandon jobs they spent years of their childhood preparing for? Or, were they like tajiya? Did they return to their duties (regardless of personal risk) once their bodies had healed? But, ultimately, the questions always boiled down to: if Kagome were here, would she understand?

_I’d like to think she would,_ the taijiya thought to herself, reaching down to rub her increasingly swollen belly. _She was my kin… she would._ Sango didn’t realise then, that her question would be answered only a few short months later. 

She was running across a field- infant son strapped securely against her back, Miroku just ahead with the girls- and Kagome was there in Inuyasha’s arms. She was the same, face slimmed slightly and body fuller, but the same. Tears filled her warm brown eyes when she saw them, smile wavering between restrained and overwhelmed as she greeted them.

_“Miroku-sama… Sango-chan…. Shippou-chan… I’m back.”_

A celebratory atmosphere lingered over the following week. Everyone, even residents from far off villages, came to pay their respects. “Kagome-sama” took the attention in stride, both gracious and humble- though she admitted one night at dinner (after some blunt, yet surprisingly strategic, prodding on Inuyasha’s part) that all the pomp left her feeling embarrassed more oft than not.

“Nobody talks to me like that on the other side of the well,” she explained. “It’s been so long since anyone addressed me with an honorific other than, ‘sempai.’ Back there, I’m just part of the crowd… just one of many girls graduating high school…”

“You helped bring down Naraku, protected this and other villages,” Miroku said from his place across the central pit, sitting cross-legged and passing bites of rice between the twins- one balanced expertly on each knee. “People remember what you did for them here. Why wouldn’t they express their respect and gratitude?”

“She’s not like you monk,” Inuyasha scoffed dramatically from his place beside Kagome. “Using people’s gratitude to swindle extra goods out of ‘em every time we take care of rampaging youkai… good riddance, I say!” 

“Now, now, Inuyasha… some of us have families to feed…”

“I know,” Kagome interjected before a full argument could brew. “I know they just want to thank me. And I appreciate it, really! All the attention… it’s just an… adjustment.”

“Keh! Just tell ‘em to get lost if they’re bugging you.” 

“I… Inuyasha! That’s rude!”

“So?” he snorted in retaliation. “They have us to thank for their petty lives already! You don’t owe ‘em nothing!”

“Well, there is something called tact,” Miroku supplied not-so-helpfully, breaking into chuckles when the girls on his lap began chanting, “Fight! Rude uncle fight!” 

Sango smiled at the familiar scene, rocking a sleepy baby in her arms, finally feeling that her home was (at long last) complete. The fire popped: spreading warmth, along with comfort, throughout the room.

“Ah, speaking of fights” Kagome spoke up suddenly, ending the argument rather anti-climatically. “I should probably start practicing more rigorously with the bow so I’m prepared to face youkai again. I joined archery club three years in a row to keep up… but it’s really not the same… so, Sango-chan, how long until I have a partner?”

“What do you mean?” Sango questioned back, perplexed.

“Sorry… I meant, you just had Komori, so how long until you’re well enough to train with me? I mean, I assume you’d need to train and get back in shape too before you return to exterminating... right?”

“Y… yes,” the taijiya stuttered- cheeks flushed, but not from embarrassment or shame. Joy and pride filled her heart to bursting, because Kagome had never asked or expressed doubts; she simply knew. _My sister-in-spirit… of course she understands._

“I waited six weeks after the twins were born,” she said through overwhelming emotions. “But Komori’s birth was easier and I probably erred more on the side of caution than necessary to begin with. I’ll be joining you soon enough.”

“Sounds good,” Kagome nodded, absently brushing dirt from her red hakama and seemingly unaware of just how momentous her words were for the other woman. 

“Yes... I can hardly wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this one kind of got away from me and ended up at 3500+ words. Not quite the short introspective I thought it'd be. But, I had already decided to explore a few more ideas and take this story past Inuvember, keeping the theme of exploring a different relationship each chapter, so there's at least three more chapters to come (and the next one will probably be up some time tomorrow since I just need to edit it).


	8. Between the Banter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some might consider it strange, how their most meaningful communications always seemed to occur in the wordless pauses between snappy banter and thrown insults... Inuyasha/Shippou bonding.

“Shippou, could you go fetch Inuyasha? We received word of youkai attacking nearby…”

The kitsune child yawned widely, grumbling an affirmative down to Miroku and stretching lazily before he jumped off his tree perch. _Aw, that was a nice nap too,_ he lamented, vertebrae popping loudly as he landed on the ground, arching his back. The boy readily accepted the sacrifice of his given duty, though. _Not like anyone else can do it._ He scampered past Miroku towards Inuyasha’s Forest- more specifically, to the Bone Eater’s Well: where he knew his quarry would be sitting in mopey silence. 

True to his predictions, Inuyasha was resting against the well’s wooden edge. The clearing around him was quiet- save for a gentle, rustling breeze that brushed through the hanyou’s thick mane of hair, lifting long silver-white strands in a rhythmic sway. Shippou paused a moment, feeling wind bristle against the grain of his bushy orange tail, and took in the subdued atmosphere. Bright overhead sun shone down on their glum little bubble, completely inappropriate considering the mood. Shippou sighed then, knowing he would have to interrupt this somber peace.

_I’m the only one who can, after all. Alright… Miroku is counting on me!_

He scurried forward on all fours, noting how Inuyasha ignored his incredibly obvious approach. Little claws latched onto the Fire Rat robe soon as he reached the hanyou: the durable cloth providing a perfect handhold for him to shimmy up onto Inuyasha’s hunched shoulder. Fully secured, Shippou draped himself over his new perch; leaf-green eyes staring down into the same dark depths his companion’s golden ones had for the past hour. Just a moment longer...

“What does the damn monk want now?” lnuyasha finally asked, breaking their reverent silence.

“Youkai attack,” Shippou responded, quickly adding, ”next town over.”

“Aa,” Inuyasha nodded, tensing his shoulders in warning before he rose from his crouched position. The kitsune clung on throughout the jarring motion, accepting his unspoken offer of a ride. Some might consider it strange, how their most meaningful communications always seemed to occur in the wordless pauses between snappy banter and thrown insults, but the two simply accepted it: never once thinking to question their interactions. _It's just our way,_ Shippou thought with simple conviction. _It works for us and that's all there is to it._

"Got any details?" Inuyasha inquired as he leapt forward, starting a lopping sprint through his namesake forest.

"Not really," the child shrugged. "I was napping... Miroku woke me up, said they needed you to deal with a youkai attack, then I left."

"Real helpful."

"Hey! I did what they asked me too!" the kitsune defended himself, indignant. "No more, no less. I’m on break from training… that means no work and lots of naps!!"

"Yeah, yeah… heard ya the first time. Wouldn't kill you to ask a few basic questions," Inuyasha grumbled. Green foliage and branching shadows swallowed the clearing behind them, a subtle reminder that, while it's occupants had left, the dark feelings embodied by that space were far from resolved.

Shippou turned his head slightly, noting the tense line of Inuyasha's sharp jaw as they lapsed into a comfortable, lulling silence. Comfortable, because he understood (more than anyone else) why the hanyou clung to whatever hope he could by the Bone Eaters Well. Kagome had been a central part of both their worlds by quest-end; and, in the wake of her departure, they floundered- emotionally stuck in place. That was the true reason Miroku sent Shippou to fetch Inuyasha. The boy was the only one allowed to invade such personal territory because he was part of it: unable to move on, they waited and grieved together.

"Hey, Inuyasha… smell anything interesting today?" he broached the unspoken subject, tactful as a desperately optimistic child could be.

"You'd already know if I did, runt."

"I know. Just thought I'd double-check."


End file.
